


Seven Seconds in Holding

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Handcuffed Together, M/M, Tickle Fights, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29727099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Iorveth is very, very unclear on how his last fight with the Blue Stripes led to him here, spooning Roche in the Blue Stripes’ holding cell, both their wrists cuffed together.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Seven Seconds in Holding

**Author's Note:**

> for the sugar and spice bingo prompt "snuggling"

It was said that you could judge a man by his enemies. If so, Iorveth took pride in the fact that he would be regarded quite well. In truth, he had many enemies, but the crowning jewel of them all was Vernon Roche. Vernon Roche was a  _ challenge. _

He was also the antithesis of everything that Iorveth fought for – aka the freedom and liberation of his people. Roche’s literal job was to hunt Iorveth down  _ because _ of the cause he fought for. 

But Roche was  _ good _ at hunting Iorveth, and Iorveth found that he rather enjoyed being hunted. After years and years of nothing but senseless violence and death, there was a thrill in being forced to bring his best with the highest stakes he had. Roche kept him on his toes.

If this was some new tactic to try to catch him off guard, then Roche’s strategy had decidedly taken a turn for the bizarre.

“Stop squirming,” Roche grumbled, jabbing an elbow back into Iorveth’s stomach. The manacle chain connecting their right wrists clinked with the movement.

Iorveth flinched away from the dh’oine’s sharp elbow and tried to figure out how exactly he’d ended up in this situation. The situation being: curled up around Roche’s smaller body, back to chest, arms wrapped around Roche’s waist where his right wrist was cuffed to Roche’s.

They were laying on their left sides on a cot in the Blue Stripes headquarters and though they were alone in the room, the other Blue Stripes laid in wait outside.

Iorveth’s enemy was  _ good _ – good enough to capture him. That was the last thing about this entire day that had made sense.

They had met. They had fought. Iorveth had lost. Only instead of being dead or tortured, he was now fucking spooning with Vernon fucking Roche. 

During the fight, Roche had managed to restrain Iorveth’s hands behind his back. He’d called to one his men to shackle Iorveth while Roche had him pinned. Iorveth, who wasn’t about to go down so easily, had twisted to free his arm from Roche’s grip.

And then, somehow, he’d found himself attached to Roche by the wrist. He was still rather unclear about exactly what had happened. 

Roche had then cleared his throat and barked that Iorveth wouldn’t be able to escape him.

Understandably, Iorveth was immediately driven to do just that. Except by then, he was entirely surrounded by Blue Stripes and even if he picked the lock on the manacles and slipped out of them, he still wouldn’t be free. The decision to wait until an opportune moment was automatic, and Iorveth knew the Stripes were suspicious by how compliant he was behaving, but the antagonistic smirk had slipped over his face with all the familiarity of an old mask.

He still wore it now, even though his face was half buried in Roche’s stupidly voluminous hat.

Behind the mask, Iorveth was mostly just confused. If they were taking him alive, the Stripes should have immediately begun torturing him. Instead, they’d smuggled him and Roche into their headquarters without any of the fanfare he would’ve expected. Then Roche had followed him into the cell they’d apparently had waiting for him and the Stripes slammed the door closed.

“Aren’t you on the wrong side of the bars?” Iorveth had asked, but Roche had just shaken his head with a grin. 

“What, leave you alone for two seconds and come back to an empty cell? No thanks.”

As much as Roche’s faith in his skills was appreciated, Iorveth still wasn’t sure how that led to him spooning Vernon Roche. But when Roche had suggested that they may as well get comfortable…

“Do this with all your prisoners?” Iorveth asked snidely, trying not to notice how, actually, the warmth of Roche’s bulk against his chest was quite nice.

Roche snorted, “you’re hardly most prisoners.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“Definitely not.”

Iorveth’s lips twitched upwards and he rolled them together, squashing the smile that tried to form. “What am I, then?”

“A fucking pain in the ass,” Roche grumbled. 

He bit his lip against the crude comment that had automatically risen to his lips. A pain in the ass indeed.

And wasn’t that a strange thought, being a literal  _ something _ in Roche’s ass.

A wholly inappropriate thought that he should not be having.

Iorveth cleared his throat, shifting slightly in place. “This is weird.”

Roche snorted, “what, you don’t cuddle with the prisoners you end up handcuffed to?”

“Decidedly not.” Iorveth shifted again, noticing the way his underlayers were starting to stick to his chest. “Are all dh’oine so hot?”

“Well, I like to think I’m special,” Roche chortled.

“You know what I fucking mean.”

“I think you definitely meant to compliment me,” Roche’s grin was audible in his voice and Iorveth pinched his side. Roche jerked with another laugh. “Do you really not know? Humans have higher body temperatures than elves.”

In point of fact, Iorveth  _ hadn’t _ known that, but the condescending note in Roche’s voice grated on his nerves. “The humans I have close contact with tend to be  _ losing _ their body temperature,” Iorveth growled.

Far from being intimidated, Roche laughed again. “And what, reality is disappointing? Terribly sorry,” he mocked.

“Ugh,” Iorveth groaned and poked Roche’s side again.

The muffled squeak that met him was a surprise, but Iorveth was trained to utilize advantages in battle. The manacle on his right wrist jingled as he fluttered his fingers across Roche’s side, smirk growing as Roche squirmed and giggled. 

“Wait, no–!” Roche gasped, laughter making his voice bright.

Iorveth smirked, tickling Roche mercilessly. Like this, with Roche flailing and cackling, it was easy to slip out of the manacle. But for some reason, he found himself hesitating.

He hesitated too long and Roche’s defense became fingers pinching at his own sides and he jerked, his shout of amusement a surprise to both of them. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Roche grinned, jabbing at his flank and Iorveth contorted as hoarse laughter fell from his lips. He retaliated, aiming for Roche’s ticklish spots, and at some point, they toppled off the cot and Roche’s heavy weight settled on top of him.

“Oof,” Iorveth huffed, breath driven from him. Roche stopped tickling him, instead just staring down at him, their bound wrists resting on Iorveth’s chest.

He licked his lips, noticing the way that Roche’s weight made it difficult to draw a full breath and yet, how comforting it was at the same time. When was the last time he’d been in full contact with someone like this? Yet, with Roche, it seemed as natural as breathing.

They held each other’s gazes for a long and Iorveth didn’t even notice Roche drawing closer until their faces were a breath apart and he could see the speckles of green in Roche’s brown eyes. He parted his lips, waiting, waiting for–

Roche drew in a sharp breath and pulled back, rolling off of him and curling up against the side of the cot. His arm had been dragged along with Roche’s movement, and he found himself propped half up, staring at Roche in confusion. 

What had just happened? Had – had Roche been about to kiss him?  _ Why? _

And why did his lips ache as though the absence of a kiss was anything remarkable? Why had he waited motionlessly?

Did he…  _ want _ Roche to kiss him?

He licked his lips, biting down on the bottom one, and part of him couldn’t help but imagine how different Roche’s teeth might feel.

That probably answered that, then. Which was… definitely something he would have to deal with at some point, but that point didn’t have to be  _ now,  _ because Roche  _ hadn’t _ kissed him, so it didn’t really matter, did it?

“I’m sorry,” Roche whispered, sounding wretched.

What the fuck?

“For… what?”

Iorveth did not at all notice the way he could feel Roche’s trembling through the manacles. He also did not notice the black hole of worry that opened in his belly and began to suck everything in. What the fuck had happened and why was Roche all torn up about it?

Roche shot him a disbelieving look. “You’re my prisoner.”

“I’m aware?” Iorveth’s brow knit as he tried to figure out what was going through Roche’s head.

Roche huffed, and repeated, “you’re my  _ prisoner.” _

“For now,” Iorveth responded. When in doubt, antagonize. That was his life’s motto. It usually worked out quite well too. Sometimes, anyway. Occasionally.

Roche didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re my prisoner. You’re not in a position to consent.”

Iorveth blinked. That – that sounded rather like Roche really  _ had _ been about to kiss him and had decided not to, because… because  _ ethically,  _ it wasn’t right.

The flush of amusement that had a grin pulling at his lips caught him entirely off guard. How very typically  _ Roche.  _ Murder and torture in the King’s name? Sure. But kiss a prisoner? No, sir, can’t do it. Wouldn’t be right. 

It was kind of adorable.

“What if,” Iorveth began, inching closer to Roche’s defensively curled form, “your prisoner kisses you?”

Roche looked gobsmacked. “What?”

“Does that satisfy your moral qualms?” Iorveth arched his eyebrow teasingly and twisted his wrist around in the cuffs so that he could grasp Roche’s still trembling hand. The trembling had lessened, though. That was good.

“My… what?” Roche’s brow crumpled in confusion and his nose scrunched up and honestly, it was ridiculously cute, but Iorveth would die before ever admitting that.

Now crouched next to Roche, he leaned in close enough to make his intention obvious, but still far enough that if Roche objected, pushing him away would be easy. “If I kiss you,” Iorveth enunciated clearly, “does that satisfy your moral qualms about my ability to consent?”

“Um… yes? Why would you–”  _ want to,  _ was cut off by Iorveth bringing their lips together properly. 

Roche’s lips were soft as they brushed against each other, still just the lightest of touches, just in case that ‘yes’ changed. Roche let out a small sound, and then his free hand was coming up to cup the back of Iorveth’s neck, pulling him closer.

It was the easiest thing in the world to let Roche move his head wherever most suited him. The kiss had Iorveth’s head spinning and his heart beating frantically and he was rather amazed he was actually  _ doing this,  _ but gods, he never wanted to stop, never wanted to lose the warm brace of Roche’s big hand at the base of his skull, never wanted not to feel the blazing heat of Roche’s body in front of him, and most of all, never wanted to go another minute without the feel of Roche’s lips against his.

_ “Finally!” _ someone said, far too close by and the two of them jerked quickly apart as Roche’s Blue Stripes filed into the room, grinning at them through the bars of the cell. “Seriously, Boss, we were worried you’d  _ never _ make a move.”

Roche blinked. “Uh… what?” 

Iorveth swallowed, drawing himself up and readying himself for a fight. The Blue Stripes were notorious for their unpredictability, after all.

Instead, Thirteen – identity made obvious by the number thirteen tattooed into his neck – stepped forward and unlocked the cell, holding out the manacle keys.

“What, you really think I’d fuck up cuffing someone that bad? I’m hurt, Boss, really.” Thirteen grinned winningly and Roche heaved a great sigh, no longer looking quite so concerned.

Which was great for him, but Iorveth was  _ very much _ still concerned.

“Nice to officially meet you, Iorveth,” the youngest Stripe said, waving enthusiastically. “We’re glad it’s not one-sided!”

Iorveth darted confused glances from Roche to his men and back, but no, the world still wasn’t making sense.

“Are you… letting me go?” he asked tentatively.

“Nah, you’re escaping, obviously,” the explosives expert shrugged, somehow managing to smell of burnt hair even though nothing was on fire.

“Guys,” Roche sounded weirdly overcome with emotion and the Stripes all shot him adoring gazes. “I appreciate the support, really. But what, and I say this with feeling, the  _ fuck!?” _

“Well, you weren’t making a move on your own, so we figured you needed some help. I suggested locking you in a closet, but the holding cell won,” Roche’s second in command shrugged. “Can’t say much for your taste in men, Boss, but if this is what you want to do with your life…”

“Um…” Iorveth said. “What is happening here?”

“Oh,” Thirteen bounced up to him and unlocked the manacles, since Roche still hadn’t reached for the key. “What’s happening is the Boss is getting lucky. And then, you know, you can go back to your weird courting dance or whatever.”

Showing a shocking lack of survival instinct, the commando clapped Iorveth on the shoulder and then turned away, back facing him.

It was  _ really,  _ really tempting to stick a knife in it, just because they apparently weren’t expecting him to.

"So, same time next week? Boss'll pick you up!"

And with that, the entirety of the Blue Stripes commando unit walked out of the room and left Iorveth alone with their commander, unshackled and with the gate to the holding cell wide open.


End file.
